Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras outline a path for obtaining divine oneness, self-realization or, as Nicolai Bachman says, in his book The Path of the Yoga Sutras, a deep understanding of the core of who you are. Among yogis and spiritual seekers, this promise is very inviting. What is even more attractive is that the path is laid out in 195 short verses (or 196, depending on the school of thought). You could easily read the entire Yoga Sutras in 30 minutes or less. However, making sense of these pithy lines is a different, and much longer, story. Like yoga, studying the Sutras could span a lifetime. There are dozens of translations of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, and they vary because the terse verses leave much room for interpretation. read more…

As a yoga teacher and student of Ayurveda, doing a Panchakarma was something I had dreamed about for many years. Panchakarama is a commitment of energy and resources though, and creating the space and time for the journey is essential. It’s not a process that can be undertaken while you also try to navigate all of the responsibilities and pressures of daily life. read more…

Each season, expatriates from the world over descend upon Goa, India to be a part of a culture that has left the modern world of haste behind. As so poignantly put by an expat friend of mine: Goa is not a destination, but rather a way of life.

It’s true. Since the sixties, Goa has served as a haven for those seeking to escape the structures and societal expectations of the West. For anyone who has basked on Goa’s tropical beaches, spent hours (or an entire day) lounging in one of the many laid-back, outdoor cafes or danced under the stars (and then greeted the sun) at an all-night techno party, you know that Goa is all about taking it easy. read more…

Over a cup of tea, she told me how they found her tumor. Mira, a middle-aged woman with large blue eyes and a gentle smile, holds a Ph.D. in Organizational Development and works as an administrator for the Swedish Army. read more…

My friend, Tami, and I recently held a yoga holiday at a stunning retreat center in Tuscany called Ebbio. Named after a plant similar to elder blossom, which grows in abundance on the 300-acre national forest where the retreat lies, Ebbio is truly a magical place. In addition to providing a tranquil setting for yoga and meditation groups, Ebbio is a working, organic farm and vineyard, as well as a sanctuary for many animals, including wild horses, tenacious donkeys, wandering geese, colorful peacocks, baby chicks, fluttering doves, sweet-natured dogs and aloof tomcats – animals are everywhere; it’s wonderful! read more…

While living in Weinfelden, Switzerland, I took classes from a beautiful teacher named Vanessa Schmidt. She had her own school called Yoga Insel (Yoga Island), where she offered Kundalini. Her little school was truly an oasis set amidst a light-industrial office park. The only yoga school in the village of 10,000 people, for me, it was a sanctuary, as well as a saving-grace, being new to the country, as well as to the German language. read more…

As I was driving through the village of Assago today I spied a tiny brown sign along the side of the road. It read “Post Office” in both English and Hindi. For weeks I’ve been meaning to go to the post office to send some cards that I wrote more than 2 months ago. But, because I dread going to the Mapusa City Post Office, I procrastinated. At Mapusa City, the post office closest to my home, there is no such thing as forming a line; it’s just a hoard of people bumping into one another trying to make their way to the solo clerk behind the counter. When I’m there, the adage “survival of the fittest” comes to mind. You have to stand strong in the mayhem and firmly point out to each person who cuts in front of you, that you’re actually waiting to mail a letter too. If you don’t, you’ll be pushed to the back of the crowd and right out the front door. read more…

This afternoon I walked along a winding, gravel path in Weinfelden (Weinfelden means “Wine Fields,” in German). Behind me were lamas grazing on the hillside while their babies suckled; to the right, a swaying wheat field still green, too early in the season to be golden; and up ahead, an old Swiss farm house painted white with sunshine-yellow shuttered windows and a garden over-flowing with wild flowers. On the left side of the path I was hoping to see Bergita working in her garden. At first she wasn’t visible, but then I saw her, behind a bushel of orange poppies, hunched down low, digging in the dirt. I said “Grüezi,” the traditional Swiss salutation. read more…